


The Elvenking

by LainellaFay



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blink And You Miss It Slash, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LainellaFay/pseuds/LainellaFay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gandalf and Aragorn delivers Gollum to The King of the Woodland Realm. Although, it is not Thranduil they see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elvenking

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have this idea. And I want to make it like a multichapter, but I don't know. I have some inkling of a plan, but it's not really taking much shape yet. I want to bring this all the way through LoTR and see how things would be different if Legolas was king instead. But instead of continuing my plans, I wrote a scene and it ballooned into this, and yeah. Maybe this can be a teaser? Haha. 
> 
> Also, I'm kind of looking for a Beta. Or just somebody to talk about Thrandolas with, that's fine too. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit / Lord of the Rings series.**

.

.

.

There is a perpetual darkness that lingers over Mirkwood.

One that could not be chased away despite the elven patrols’ best efforts to destroy the fell creatures that endlessly invaded their lands. No, this darkness rests deep within, in their very hearts.

Human settlements nearby warn their children against venturing into the forests, _they say a plague infests the woods, one step in and you’re devoured_.

The Elvenking mourns.

 

-

 

“Come along now, Aragorn,” Gandalf hassles, his staff acting as a walking stick as they venture further into the realm of the Elvenking. “Night approaches. We must get to the nearest shelter. Come on, with haste!”

The young ranger grunts, digging his heels into the soil as he drags the unwilling prisoner behind him. Unexpectedly strong for his appearance, Gollum put up quite a fight against the strength of the man. “Do you know the way, Gandalf?”

“Who do you think I am,” Gandalf snaps in reply, the thump of his staff against the ground suddenly heavy and loud in his irritation, “ _Radagast_?”

“I mean no offence.”

“Of course you don’t,” Gandalf huffs, acting like a petulant child. It is during times like this that Aragorn wonders how the Istari have lived as long as he did. Immortals, the ranger mused, thinking of his twin brothers, and shakes his head. With another grunt, he tugs the rope forwards, dragging the wailing creature onwards.

Gollum’s wails were grating on his nerves. If Aragorn had a gag, he would be certain to use it. But alas, he had nary a cloth that could sufficiently act as a gag—not wanting to waste precious bandages for the slimy mouth of this abdominal beast. “Gandalf?” he queries. “You don’t suppose this noise will attract any enemies?”

Gandalf halts. Turning to face the ranger, he tilts his head, deep in thought. Suddenly, his chin lifts up and Aragorn furrows his eyebrows in confusion as he observes the wizard survey the treetops. He follows the wizard’s gaze, wondering what had caught Gandalf’s attention. Aragorn did not manage to identify the source, seeing naught but trees.

“The elves will prevent anything from approaching. No need to fear, young ranger.”

“Right…” Aragorn sceptically replies, mentally noting to himself to be on guard.

“Come on now,” Gandalf beckons, continuing their trek. “Thranduil’s halls is but a days walk. We must rest for the night. Just around this corner now.”

“Corner?” Aragorn mutters under his breath. “Trees, corners.” If his brothers haven’t driven him to early insanity, he feared Gandalf would. Looking over his shoulder, the ranger snarls at the Gollum, “Move along!” He was not the least gentle when he tugged the rope. He didn’t care.

Their shelter is merely an opening under a canopy of tree branches and leaves. Gandalf forbade him from starting a fire for some reason so Aragorn huddles under the thin blanket in his pack. He keeps an eye on the prisoner tied to a sturdy tree trunk. Gandalf is puffing away on his pipe weed. As the smoke drifts up to the trees, Aragorn hears rustling of leaves; tell tale signs of elves shifting away and he decides that Gandalf wasn’t cuckoo after all. Aragorn watches as the wizard nonchalantly puffs away, unperturbed by the fact that he was most probably antagonising some Wood-elves.

Curious about this unfamiliar land, Aragorn asks, “Gandalf, do you know Mirkwood well?”

Gandalf removes the pipe from between his lips. He doesn’t reply immediately, pausing to think. “Mind your words, Aragorn. Others may perceive this forest as _Mirkwood_ for its trees have turned shadowed and fell creatures now riddle the forest, but the Wood-elves here have lived through its glory days; when it was still known as Greenwood the Great. You should take great care not to mention the term Mirkwood to Thranduil; I’m afraid he will not take that lightly.” Aragorn nods. Gandalf puffs once more, watching the smoke float in the breeze. “Yes, I do know these lands. Albeit, not as well as I would like. The Wood-elves,” he says as he eyes the tree-tops, “are quite the reclusive race.”

Aragorn sits up, leaning against a tree trunk. He draws the blanket up to his shoulders and asks, “It’s true then? What they say about Wood-elves,” he lowers his voice, taking into mind the sharp hearing of elves, “less wise, more dangerous.”

To his surprise, Gandalf bursts out into laughter. Aragorn involuntarily flushes red. When Gandalf calmed down, he replies, “Aye, aye, I do hear that saying a lot.” He hums. “Although I wonder…” The wizard flashes the ranger a shark-like smile. “Why don’t you find that out for yourself, young Aragorn?”

Aragorn can’t help but wonder whether the Istari was mocking him.

“Rest now. The elves will watch over us as we sleep. We have a long walk tomorrow if we want to make it by nightfall.”

 

-

 

They had been walking for hours straight, the sun was already shining in the western skies when a slender figure drops from above. Gandalf starts, his hand rising to his chest. Long brown hair flies in the wind, revealing pointed ears as the figure straightens.

“Mithrandir,” the elf says. “You approach our king’s sanctuary. What business have you for the king?”

“Bredian, there’s no need for these formalities is there?” Gandalf replies. “This old man is weary and wishes to rest. Bring us to Thranduil, I have an important request to ask of him.”

The elf looked uncomfortable. With quick gestures with his hands, several other figures started dropping down from trees, sharp ends of arrows aimed at the two travellers. Gollum screeches and Aragorn tightens his grip on the rope. The elf Gandalf addressed as Bredian, whom now Aragorn assumes to be the leader, looks down his nose at the creature and remarks, “You bring something strange with you, Mithrandir.” Then, with a sharp glare at the ranger, he continues, “And a _man_. I’m afraid I cannot let you pass, Mithrandir.”

“This is Estel, foster son of Elrond, lord of Rivendell. He is no ordinary man, Bredian.”

Aragorn bowed the elven way as Gandalf introduced him. _“Mae Govannen.”_

Unfortunately, the elf did not seem to be swayed. Gandalf presses on, “Aren’t I always a guest of your king? I can pledge for Estel. He brings you no harm. Unless,” his voice taking a suggestive tone, “you think I seek to harm your king?”

Bredian is aghast at Gandalf’s words. “I wouldn’t dare, Mithrandir!”

“ _Saes_ , Bredian. We request an audience with your king.”

Still seeming unsure, Bredian exchanges words too soft for Aragorn’s ears with the elf beside him. Finally, he returned his attention to the wizard and the ranger and says, “We shall bring you to him.” Then, softer, with a tinge of sorrow in his voice, “Although, I have to warn you, Mithrandir. The king is grieving, as we all are.”

Gandalf quirks his eyebrows, curiosity and concern etches themselves on his features. “Grieving? Dear me, did something happen to Legolas?”

“No, my lord,” the elf answers with a shake of his head. He opens his mouth, closes it, he seemed to be arranging his thoughts before finally saying, “You shall soon find out. Follow me.”

The rest of the elves leap back into the trees and Bredian beckons them with a wave of his hand. The pace the elf set is quick; he jumps over tree roots, ducks under low-lying branches, and side-steps hidden pits in the forest ground with the grace of an elf. Aragorn finds himself struggling to keep up, the deadweight of Gollum only further hindering him. But manage he did, and they quickly find themselves standing in front of large, exquisite doors.

Bredian utters a few words in Sindarin and they swing open. Once inside, Aragorn cannot help but gape at the beauty of the cave, designed and built to resemble the forest outside. Unlike dwarven caves, the Elvenking’s halls had gaps in the ceilings for sunlight to enter; the way the beams of sunlight cast themselves in the cave were unearthly.

The beauty of the Woodland Realm differed from Rivendell, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

They are brought to the centre of the elegant halls. A throne stands atop stairs. There, an elf lounges with elegance; long, silky golden hair flow down the slender figure, a crown of flaming red leaves rests on the golden head. He is dressed in the finest robes, emerald green lined with striking silver. This must be the Elvenking Thranduil Aragorn had read all about in the tomes of Rivendell’s vast library. The golden elf rests his cheek on his fist, elbow on the armrest. As Bredian brings them closer, the guard bows deeply and addresses his king.

“My lord, Mithrandir and a ranger requests an audience.”

The elf slowly turns his head to gaze upon his visitors, and Aragorn is struck with the _intense_ emotions in clear blue eyes, the colour of the sea and sky. Aragorn immediately bows in respect. Beside him, he hears Gandalf gasp; a sound so utterly strange on the Istari that Aragorn pulls himself up from the bow to stare at the wizard.

“Legolas!” the wizard exclaims. Aragorn watches as the light in Gandalf’s eyes whirl in thought, and it was as if things had finally clicked in the wizard’s mind. Gandalf suddenly deflates in sorrow, his expression turning sombre. “I see,” he murmurs. “ _’The king is grieving’_. I had feared that it was Legolas who had fallen, but I see it is not. The son mourns the father, not the other way around.” Gandalf rests his hand over his heart and bows deeply. “My deepest apologies, Legolas. I had not anticipated this.”

The Elvenking is silent. It is then that Aragorn feels the oppressive grief that surrounded these lands. It is heavy as it forces the elven realm to sink further into the murky depths. The Elvenking Thranduil has fallen, and it is now his son, his only heir, that sits on the throne; Legolas Thranduilion. With a sharp glance at the guards, the king orders them away, leaving none other but himself, the two guests, and one wailing prisoner.

“Mithrandir,” the voice is weak. It is the Elvenking who had spoken. Aragorn couldn’t help but feel worried. Elves were never weak, not unless they were—he mentally shook his head. The elf is grieving! It makes sense for him to be low-spirited. “What brings you and your companion here?”

“Legolas…” Gandalf utters with a frown. Aragorn knows the wizard was thinking on the same lines as he. “I had but one request. Alas, it might not seem like the best time.”

“Out with it, Mithrandir.”

With a worried curl of his lip, Gandalf relents and gestures to Aragorn. The ranger pulls Gollum before him and holds the creature still. “I ask of your assistance in holding him prisoner.”

The expression on Legolas’s face does not change; ever so downcast and lamenting. He takes one look at Gollum pitifully moaning on the ground and nods. “Greenwood will assist you.” He doesn’t ask even a single question, just accepts and relays the orders to a guard he beckoned back into the throne room. Another elf is summoned and the king says, “Bring them to their chambers.” As the elf bows and moves to complete his task, the king adds as if in second thought, “Tell Galion I’ll be in my own.”

Aragorn follows Gandalf as the wizard reluctantly steps away from the throne. The concerned glances Gandalf shoots over his shoulder makes Aragorn bite his tongue.

 

-

 

“He’s fading.”

Aragorn looks up from where he was polishing his blade. Gandalf paces across the length of the room, biting on his thumbnail, an action that made Aragorn raise his eyebrows. “The king?”

“I cannot let that happen,” Gandalf is lost in his musing. “Ai, this is horrible news indeed. How did it happen? _When_? How did I not know about it?”

“Gandalf.”

“Ai, that spirited elfling. Legolas is never kingly material and he was very close— _very close_ indeed—to his father. He’s fading. I can see it in his eyes; it is filled with immense grief. He doesn’t have long. Ai, I have to speak with him! He cannot leave the world in this way, no, not this way. Not yet. _Arda_ still needs him. I can feel it. Ai!”

“Gandalf.”

“I must make haste,” Gandalf firmly decided. His lips pursed and expression of determination. Aragorn jumps up and shadows the wizard as Gandalf shakes off the elven guards posted outside their chambers and strides purposefully down the corridor. Elvish pleads for them to stop follows them down the stretch.

Aragorn doesn’t know where they were heading, so he leans forwards and asks, “Gandalf, you _do_ know where you’re going, yes?”

“You really think me a fool, ranger!” Gandalf huffs. He takes a sharp left turn and Aragorn nearly tripped over himself to follow.

After walking for what felt like ages, they finally came to a stop outside wide doors with the Woodland Realm emblem carved onto them. To Aragorn’s surprise, there weren’t any guards posted at the doors. Gandalf sniffs and barges in with nary a knock. Aragorn feels his jaw drop and glances from side to side before slinking in after the wizard. He quietly shuts the door behind him and presses his back against the wood, surveying the royal chambers.

The outer chambers is dark and Gandalf is nowhere to be seen. Aragorn carefully steps forwards, heightening his hearing for signs of the wizard. There are multiple doors leading into inner chambers and Aragorn creeps past like a thief in the night. He inwardly curses Gandalf in all languages known to him for making him do this. If only that wizard just _listened_ for once in his life!

“—randuilion!”

Ears perking at the familiar boom, Aragorn skittles towards the source of the voice. He finds himself in a large bedroom, candles are unlit but Aragorn has no problem seeing as the room was as dark as it was outside. The Elvenking is half lying, half sitting on the ginormous mattress as he dozily listens to Gandalf’s rant. Aragorn shifts his eyes about, fidgeting as he places his weight from one leg to the other. His attention occasionally lingers on the two and Aragorn notices that the Elvenking lays only on one side of the bed; unusual for one who sleeps companionless.

“—not yet been served and I find you _asleep_?” Aragorn tunes into Gandalf’s rambling. “Why, if this isn’t what I think it is, Sauron will be ruling Middle Earth!”

“Cease your madness, Mithrandir,” Legolas responds, his voice never rising in volume. “I am healthy. I was merely taking a rest.”

“A _rest_?” Gandalf strikes his staff on the ground. “Legolas, have you _seen_ yourself? This is no healthy elfling. You’re weakening. I can no longer see the warrior I knew in you. Do not let yourself go this way, Legolas. Do not leave your kingdom to torment as you fade.”

“You know not of what you speak. I am not fading.” Legolas tosses the spread away from his figure, displaying pale, silken skin that peeked out of thin dressing robes. “I may be grieving, Mithrandir, but I made a promise.” The king stands and walks to the window. His hands grip the stone edge so tightly Aragorn can see his knuckles even whiter than they already were from the distance. “I am not to fade; my people need their king. I am to stay till the end of our days. I gave my word, and I have stuck to it for eighteen years. There is nothing for you to worry.”

“Thranduil made you promise…” Gandalf muses. Heading towards the elf, the wizard places his hand on a thin shoulder and gently asks, “Legolas. Tell me, what happened here all those years ago? What happened for your father to ask this of you? The Thranduil I know does not take death lightly, he must have predicted his own death. What on _Arda_ happened?”

The king shudders, and steps out of Gandalf’s reach, much to the dismay of the Istari. The king’s eyes are distant, trapped in the past. His lips move, the words that emerges freezes both the wizard’s and ranger’s souls.

“ _Nazgûl.”_

Gandalf is the first to recover. “Here, in Greenwood?” he questions in disbelief.

The king nods solemnly. “Aye. All nine of them. They swooped in and swarmed us. Right at our very doorstep. We tried our hardest to push them away, and _Ada_ — _Ada_ he—when he stepped into the open, they zeroed into him—he was their goal all along. I tried to get to him, I tried to save him. But he forbade me.” The king is weeping, tears twinkling in the moonlight. “I had to live, he shouted to me. At the very least, _I_ had to live. Why, Mithrandir, why _me_?”

“Because he loved you, young one. He loved you.” Gandalf reaches for the elf and pulls him into a hug, comforting the sobbing king.

“I should have saved him. I should have. If only, if only I had power—“

“Don’t!” Gandalf harshly interrupts. Holding Legolas at an arm’s length away, Gandalf looks grimly into teary blue eyes. “Never say words like that, never _think_ it again. It eats away at you, never let darkness prevail. Don’t let go of hope, Thranduilion.”

The Elvenking’s lips tremble. “Why,” his voice barely a whisper. “Why has the Valar forsaken our realm? Too many of my people have perished in defence of our lands, for years on end, we’re enduring; aye, that’s all we’re doing. Why is Greenwood the only Elvish realm unprotected by—“ he chokes off, unable to continue.

Gandalf’s eyes softens with sorrow, but understands the words left unsaid. “What would having one achieve, Legolas?”

“They wouldn’t be able to enter our premises. _Ada_ would have been able to keep them out. _Ada_ wouldn’t have had to die! My heart wouldn’t have had been ripped into two!”

The wizard shakes his head. “Forgive me, Legolas,” he murmurs and Aragorn tilts his head in confusion at those words before Gandalf strikes the Elvenking unconscious with a single blow. Aragorn’s eyes bludge out as he gapes at the wizard.

“You—you just knocked out the king! In his own lands!”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Aragorn.” Gandalf rolls his eyes. He carefully places the king down onto the spread, covering the elf with the blanket and sighs. It had been disturbingly easy to catch Legolas unaware. “My fear lingers. Albeit, it’s different now. He will not fade, but I fear for his light.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“Nay. I’m afraid not.” With his words, the wizard curls his lips up into a wry smile. “Only hope can save him. Aye…hope indeed.”

Aragorn doesn’t miss Gandalf’s sneaky glance in his direction. _Estel_. Aragorn mentally shakes his head. He must be thinking too much into it.

 


End file.
